


Dear Sherlock

by StarSpangledBucky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case With A Devastating End, Character Death, Diary/Journal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moiarty Is Evil, Sad, Sad Ending, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock's Violin, Tragedy, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/pseuds/StarSpangledBucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One bullet, can change everything. One bullet, means death. A tragedy one shot where Sherlock loses someone most important to him, making him feel emotions he has never felt before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Sherlock

August 13th 2013, consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes and retired army doctor, John Watson were on the beginning of a case which had baffled both of them. A number of threats were being sent to Sherlock, timed to arrive at exactly 8pm every night. At first Sherlock had thought it was a simple prank, it wasn't until one threat contained secret coding, warning him that John was going to get harmed if he remained with him. The detective tried to persuade John that it wasn't safe, John however refused to leave Sherlock's side.

At exactly 8pm on September 5th, Sherlock and John came face to face with the man behind the threats. Neither had expected it, both had thought they'd dealt with the consulting criminal a few months back. They were wrong, he was back, back for more blood thirst, more revenge. Before them stood none other than Professor James 'Jim' Moriarty, that sinister smirk plastered on his face. Sherlock had dealt with him once before, back when John had bombs strapped to a jacket by the pool. Now here they were in an alleyway, unaware of Moriarty's motives.

"I warned you Sherlock," he spoke, venom filling his tone.

"What is it you want from us Moriarty?" Sherlock questioned, his hand gripped tightly around his gun which sat by his side.

"My, my Sherlock. You have no clue do you? I want you...to feel pain. You've never felt pain, have you? Have you!" Moriarty spat.

"Nowhere near as much as John has," the detective replied, finger resting on the trigger.

"How sweet, always thinking of John. Always putting him first before yourself...before anyone else!" the criminal growled. "You mightn't have noticed, but...your dear friend tried to be rather naughty and sneak around, but believe me, he hasn't gotten very far," Moriarty continued in a sing song voice.

Sherlock's heart began to pound in his chest as he looked across the other side of the alleyway, seeing the red dot against John's chest. His gaze darted upwards as he caught the sniper leaning over the ledge of the building, finger rested on the trigger.

"One small move and you're friend is as good as dead," Moriarty hissed.

"John, don't you dare move!" Sherlock yelled.

"But Sher-" John stopped as Sherlock interjected.

"Just do as I say!" the detective roared, a slight break in his voice.

Fear, it was showing on Sherlock, on his face, his body language, his voice...his eyes. Moriarty simply laughed at the sight, that maniacal laugh Sherlock thought he'd never hear pierce his ears again. John was using every ounce of his strength to remain calm, but seeing Sherlock's fear, it tore him apart.

"Sherlock," he wavered, his eyes watering slightly.

"John...please, don't move, you're not almost dying again on me," Sherlock whispered.

"Nearly dying? Oh Sherlock! You amuse me!" Moriarty laughed.

"Shut up!" the detective yelled, raising his gun as he aimed it at Moriarty's head.

"Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you Sherlock. Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked with a small smirk.

"You wouldn't shoot him, you know my motives," Sherlock spat.

"Oh won't I?" Moriarty whispered. "Do you think so Mr Holmes..." he continued, his features becoming less readable.

Sherlock had thought he'd cracked the criminals plans once again, like he'd always thought he did. With one simple flick of Moriarty's hand, a gun shot rang through the alleyway, piercing Sherlock's ears as he covered them. His heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his eardrums, the blood running from his face as he slowly turned. There on the cold, wet pavement lay his best friend, surrounded by a pool of blood, lifeless...dead.

"John," Sherlock gasped. "JOHN!" he roared, racing down to the army doctor, dropping to his knees.

"Sweet dreams Sherlock," Moriarty sang out, disappearing into the dark, his laughter fading.

"John, oh god no, John. Please. Please, please, please don't do this to me. John!" Sherlock yelled, cradling his friend in his arms, blood seeping onto his hand.

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Sherlock's shoulders trembled as his eyes brimmed with tears, small laboured gasps leaving his mouth.

"JOHN!" Sherlock cried, forehead resting on John's, the distant sound of sirens in the distance.

\---&\---

The violin, an instrument of many emotions. Right now, mourning...for John Hamish Watson, much loved friend, son and brother. Sherlock stood upon the steps of the church, violin in hand, playing a tune he wished he'd never had to compose. He had tried so very hard to save John that night, even though all hope was minimal, he tried, and failed. Moriarty was laying low, yet despite Sherlock and Scotland Yard's attempts at finding him, they had proved unsuccessful.

Sherlock never wanted this, this pain, this fear...this loss. John was his best friend, no...more than that, Sherlock loved him. He was far too afraid to say anything to John, now he was far too late. As the final note was played, a single tear fell down his cheek, the other mourners wiping their eyes with tissues. The consulting detective handed his violin to Molly, who pulled him into a quick embrace, before walking back down the stairs.

Mycroft, Greg and four officers of Scotland Yard appeared at the doors of the church, the casket rested on their shoulders. Sherlock's lips pulled into a thin line as he gazed at the casket which held his best friend. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again as he approached the casket. The detective swapped places with an officer, resting the casket on his shoulder as he held it with all the energy he had, tears streaming down his face.

"Forgive me John," he whispered, beginning the walk to the grave.

Mourners followed close behind as they passed other graves, Sherlock's eyes focused ahead of him. He'd never felt so much guilt, he blamed himself for John's death and no matter how many times people told him it was not his fault, he pushed it away.

"His blood was on my hands! I could have saved him!"

Sherlock shook the flashback away, the argument he'd had with Molly the night John died. She'd tried her best to convince Sherlock, proving unsuccessful.

"Sherlock? Sherlock," Mycroft's voice interjected.

"Yes, Mycroft?" he replied, a slight choke in his tone.

"We're here," his brother replied with a soft tone.

The detective's heart sank as he gazed upon the grave that had been dug for John. The headstone engraved with his name that stood out the most.

"In loving memory of John Hamish Watson

Loving son, brother and best friend.

September 5th, 2013"

Sherlock lowered the casket as they placed it by the grave, his shoulder straining slightly as more tears brimmed in his eyes. He stepped away as he looked at the headstone, suddenly becoming rather light headed.

"Easy Sherlock," Greg whispered, holding Sherlock up.

"I'm so sorry John," he sobbed.

Sherlock's knees buckled from under him as he fell to the ground, not caring in the slightest that the ground was wet and muddy from the rain. Greg knelt down beside him, his arm wrapped comfortingly around the detective as Molly stood before the grave, throwing in flowers as the casket was placed inside. More people walked over, throwing flowers, their sobs muffled behind tissues.

Mrs Hudson needed help from Molly as she couldn't bear the thought, she was shaken as much as Sherlock. Although nothing could compare to the pain Sherlock was feeling. He thought he'd had Moriarty, yet this time his judgement was incorrect, Moriarty had killed his best friend yet Sherlock knew damn well it was him who initiated it. What was he going to do?

"Sherlock it's your turn," Molly spoke with a small choked sob as she knelt down in front of the detective.

She handed Sherlock a deep red rose with a small ribbon wrapped around it. Molly knew all along about how Sherlock felt for John, she knew he loved him. She was sure John had felt the same.

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock whispered, standing up as he walked slowly to the grave.

Thunder clapped in the sky as rain began to pour, some people putting up umbrellas. Someone had offered one to Sherlock, but he refused. His eyes gazed at the rose as the rain soaked his hair, droplets masking the tears that fell from his eyes.

"You're resting at peace now John. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I miss you, so much. I love you John Watson," Sherlock cried, throwing the rose into the grave as it fell onto the top of the casket. "I won't forget you," he whispered.

\---&\---

"Sherlock, love...do you want some tea?" Mrs Hudson asked, walking out of the kitchen.

"No thank you Mrs Hudson," he replied with a monotone, staring out the window, rain still pelting down.

After the funeral and the burial, a few close friends and family returned to 221B Baker Street to pay their respects to John. Sherlock just wanted to be alone, his heart had a hole in it and his mind was swimming with thoughts. He'd received far more hugs than he'd ever had in his life, some of it was becoming too much.

"Sherlock," a voice spoke.

The detective looked to his right as he saw Molly sitting beside him. She looked around the room for a moment before looking back at Sherlock.

"I have to show you this. It was in John's room when we cleaned it out," she whispered.

Sherlock sat up as Molly handed him a black leather journal, a clip centred in the middle of it.

"Can I be left alone for a moment?" Sherlock asked, earning a nod from Molly.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stood up from the couch, passing through people as he disappeared up to John's empty room. The only thing left there was the desk, the bed and the wardrobe. Sherlock sat down on the bed as he clicked the lock open, flicking through the pages. They were all blank? Sherlock raised an eyebrow when suddenly he came across a page with writing on it.

Dear Sherlock

I wish I could tell you how I feel. Every night when we have dinner together I feel like telling you. Every moment we spend together I feel like kissing the living hell out of you. I wish I wasn't so nervous when it came to you. You have no idea how you make me feel Sherlock. Then again, you are married to your work, aren't you? Where am I in the picture? Just your best friend really...your blogger.

Dammit Sherlock there's so many things I wish I could say right to your face but I can't. There's a list of things about you that I love. And I think I'll write most of them down on paper. I'm going to sound like an old sap, but truth is Sherlock...I love you. And this is what I love about you.

1\. Your eyes

2\. Your smile

3\. Your deductions

4\. Your soft hair

5\. Your intelligence

6\. Your humour

7\. Your bravery

8\. Your laugh

9\. Your maturity

10\. Your immaturity

11\. Your experiments

12\. Your knowledge

13\. Your detective skills

14\. You

Don't you dare say none of these things are good, believe me, they are. Maybe one day I will tell you how I feel Mr Sherlock Holmes. But for now, I suppose I will just stay by your side, as your friend, your best friend.

Much love

John. H. Watson.

Sherlock's body started to quiver as he closed the journal, tears forming in his eyes again. A choked sob left his lips as he dropped to the floor, clutching the journal to his chest. What John had wrote, finally made him crack.

"Oh John," he cried.

For once in his life, Sherlock was speechless. He was heartbroken. He was...lost without John.


End file.
